


Stolen Property

by anomalousGreenhorn



Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Hiding, Holding Hands, M/M, i know an inappropriate amount of lore on ravana and ramayana because of ravan, its horavan tho so deal, takes place during first year, theres no good way to tag this whoops, you read that right lads...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousGreenhorn/pseuds/anomalousGreenhorn
Summary: Or, in which some good comes out of rule-breaking.





	Stolen Property

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that gay-ass episode of goosebumps with the mud monster bc i mean. that was Gay. you cant deny.

“This is hopeless, Ravan, it could be _anywhere_.” Hort swiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, gazing around the dean’s office. “I say we just give it up and head back to the dorm. Maybe steal something from the kitchen and get a good night’s rest.”

“You’re willing to steal from the cooks, but not the dean?” inquired Ravan absently as he dug through the expansive bookshelf opposite to Hort. “It hardly even classifies as stealing if I’m taking back what belongs to me.”

Hort sighed, making his way toward Ravan. With anticipation, he asked, “I thought it was your father’s?”

“He’s dead now, so it’s not like he can do anything about stolen property, can he, Hort?” snapped Ravan, grinding his teeth. He never once bothered to look his roommate’s way.

Hort silently surrendered. He shouldn’t have said that. The quickest way to piss Ravan off was to speak of his father in any sense, and rightfully so. God forbid Hort wasn’t in the same — or, at least, a similar — boat regarding fathers and deceased fathers.

He watched dumbly for a few minutes as Ravan continued to ravage through Lady Lesso’s collection of tombs and textbooks, before something caught his own eye. With little grace, Hort reached out to the shiny bottle half-filled with some thick purple liquid and snatched it away. He began, “Hey, what’s this—?”

There were voices. Clicking of the doorknob. Someone was about to walk in on Hort and Ravan digging through the dean’s very private possessions. In this realization, Hort dropped the vile, allowing it to shatter against the shelf and spew its contents all over his school robe. _I_ just _got this thing washed_ , he thought sourly.

“Idiot,” hissed Ravan as he (very, very forcibly) grabbed Hort’s wrist and yanked him away from the mess, into the nearby supplies closet, and shut the doors behind them. Hort couldn’t see outside the closet, and could only just make out Ravan standing next to him from what little light leaked from the bottom and top of the doors. He could certainly hear as someone (assumedly the dean) entered the room and beheld the mess he had made.

“Is someone in here?” rang out Lady Lesso’s harsh, clear voice. Hort felt chills rush down his spine. “I _will_ find you, if so.”

“ _Don’t make a sound_ ,” whispered Ravan, to the point of Hort hardly being able to hear.

Hort was going to joke (or whine) about Ravan making more than enough noise himself when he felt a raging burn spike up against his thigh. It was the sludge from the vile, he thought, it must had seeped through his robe. He stumbled backwards and created quite some racket by bumping into the clothing racks. His heart leaped into his throat, and he was about to shout, taken by surprise—

“What was that?” called Lady Lesso at the same moment Hort felt a hand slap over his mouth, stopping whatever was bound to come out. For a second, he was terrified, thinking Lesso was responsible, when another hand came up to the back of his shoulder blade, near-massaging him. The act was bit too aggressive to be considered _massaging_ , but Hort got the message and attempted to relax, knowing it was only Ravan, albeit very odd and uncharacteristic of Ravan. It’s not like he would _actually_ strangle Hort here, right? Surely he’d get expelled for something like that…

Then he remembered the burning sensation and the purple sludge and started whimpering behind Ravan’s hand.

Something bumped his ear. “ _It’s okay_ ,” he heard Ravan mutter. “ _It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s_ okay.”

Do quasi-demon-gods have mind-reading abilities? Or night vision? Either way, it all felt strange to Hort, that _Ravan_ was trying to comfort _him_. Then again, if Hort started squealing and gave away their hiding spot, they’d both be in endless amounts of trouble, so maybe it wasn’t all that strange.

“I’m going to get rid of it, but you need to be quiet, okay? Promise me you won’t scream.”

Hort had not the faintest clue how Ravan expected him to one: signify a promise, or two: honestly go through with said promise, so he just nodded as much as he could in his position.

Ravan removed the hand from over his mouth, but left the one on Hort’s shoulder in its place. He felt Ravan’s hand slide down the length of his leg, bunching up his school robes just over where the burning was worst. Then, suddenly, the burning faded, and was replaced by what can only be described as a really big bandage being ripped off of a big area of skin full of hair.

Hort swore very loudly.

Ravan jumped away from him, and the ripping pain — as well as any burning — ceased. It wasn’t even a moment later before the doors of the closet were wide open, revealing an unamused dean.

“Ah,” Lesso _tsk_ ed. “Hort of Bloodbrook, and… Ravan of Thicket Tumble. I expected more from you. Both of you. You do realize stealing from your authorities is not permitted at the School for Evil, correct?”

Ravan shoved Hort aside. Shoulders squared, he said with a matter-of-faculty tone of voice, “We weren’t stealing. A witch said she saw a rat crawl under the door, so we came to retrieve it. We were going to make a meal out of it.”

Lady Lesso’s expression did not falter. Hort thought she didn’t believe a word Ravan said. “And you broke the lock on my door to do so? With magic, no less?”

“Well, yeah, how else were we supposed to get in?” piped up Hort, feeling left out of the conversation.

Ravan looked as though he was about to rectify what Hort had said, but Lady Lesso promptly cut him off. “Three hours in the Doom Room, Sunday morning, before dawn. This sort of behavior will not be tolerated.”

Ravan nodded quickly, and said even quicker, “Understood, Dean Lesso.” He grabbed Hort’s hand and lead him out of the room without sparing and single glance back. Hort was mildly boggled at his ability to remain level-headed.

Once they were a ways away from the dean’s office, Hort couldn’t help but say, “So what was that purple goo?”

“Body ointment,” said Ravan simply.

“What?”

“Body ointment. From a major company in the Murmuring Mountains, specifically. Surprising, actually, because Lesso never striked me as the type to use cosmetics.”

Hort was dumbstruck. “But it _hurt_! Badly!”

“If you think that was bad, try anything from Borna Coric. I had rashes for weeks afterwards, and they always felt like wearing a coat of nails.”

Hort shook his head. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

“My mother.” Ravan seemed uninterested, as though this was the least bit shocking. Perhaps it was to the rest of the Endless Woods.

Hort took a good, long look at Ravan’s face. It occurred to him that none of the treatments his mother used had ever worked, because Ravan’s skin was oiler than, well, uhm, oil? That’s actually a difficult comparison to make.

“Did you even find what you were looking for?” he then asked. Hort wanted to know whether they’d gotten Doom Room duty for no reason at all.

Ravan used his left hand to pull something out of his pocket. It was a mask— small, no larger than his own thumb, but with all sorts of intricate designs on it. Hort couldn’t imagine the value of it, but knew better than to ask.

There was silence in the hall as Ravan put the mask up, and in that silence, Hort realized he was still holding Ravan’s hand. He didn’t really mind.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about how hort & ravan don't hold hands often enough [on tumblr](https://ofthickettumble.tumblr.com/).


End file.
